


so close, and still so far

by midnightwhisperings



Category: Layton Kyouju vs Gyakuten Saiban | Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Divorce Lawyer Miles, Enchanted AU, M/M, Romance, Single Parent Miles, Young Trucy, is there such thing as medium-paced burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-22 05:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11960298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightwhisperings/pseuds/midnightwhisperings
Summary: Phoenix Wright, a common baker in the idyllic kingdom of Kurainthia, is rescued by the heroic Prince Zacharias Barnham and the pair are eager to embark on their fairy tale ending. However, Zacharias' evil stepmother, Morgan Fey, has other plans, and casts Phoenix away to a faraway place where there are no happy endings - the realm of Miles Edgeworth, a disillusioned divorce lawyer. Can the power of true love still prevail?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, yes, this is an enchanted au. and to think i came up with all of it in the back seat of my driver's ed car.
> 
> before we begin, i'd like to thank the very talented artist mon (@finnmertens on twitter) for making the cutest drawings of specific scenes throughout this au, which inspired me to keep this project going. i'd also like to thank mallory (@vibrantxsh on twitter) for helping me map all this out, along with everyone else in the enchanted au groupchat whose contributions made this all possible!! i love you guys!!
> 
> so now, without further ado, enjoy!

Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom known as Kurainthia, there lived an evil queen named Morgan Fey. As the matriarch of a long line of powerful Fae, she lived in constant fear that her stepson’s future spouse would unseat her from the throne… and so she made a vow to herself that she would do anything in her power to prevent this from coming to pass.  
  
However, true love’s kiss stops for nobody.  
  
-  
  
“Bippity, boppity, boo,” croons Maya, purple shimmering wings flitting gently behind her as she adds the finishing touches - literally - to Phoenix’s suit. She steps back to marvel at her handiwork, placing her hands on her hips. “And there you have it - your Faerie Godmother’s work here is done.”  
  
The prince-to-be can’t help but grin at his reflection in the pane of glass, currently being suspended before him by two blue birds. His royal blue suit, expertly crafted by only the best silkworms and tailored by the most talented woodland animals, is magical. His best friend is magical. Today is magical. His future prince, no doubt, will look magical. The oncoming tears stinging at his eyes, however, aren’t so magical.  
  
“Oh, don’t cry, you big lug,” Maya reprimands playfully, nudging him. “There’s no _time_ for tears. Go out there and knock him dead.”  
  
“Thanks for everything, Maya,” Phoenix says, turning around and pulling his friend into a rib-crushing hug. He owes her so much for everything she’s done for him, but letting her breathe isn’t included, apparently.  
  
“You say that like you’re leaving me forever. I think I, for one, deserve at least _one_ room in that castle.” Maya jokes, voice tight from the hug. Having been cast out of her aunt’s castle after the death of her mother, the young Fae was raised alongside him in a quaint little bakery in the heart of Kurainthia, and the two have been fateful friends ever since - perhaps even closer so than siblings.  
  
Phoenix grins even wider. “Of course. I’ll make sure to set aside a room, just for you.”  
  
“You better! Now, go on, scram! I’ll see you inside.”  Maya says, gesturing towards the church entrance and rushing in that direction, her human form quickly disappearing in a cloud of sparkles and into her favored animal form, a fervent purple hummingbird.  
  
Truth be told, he isn’t quite ready to head in yet. There’s so much swarming through his head right now - mostly excitement and unbridled anxiety, because this wedding is _only_ the start of the rest of his life. He will reign alongside his one true love, Prince Zacharias Barnham; and, to think, this all started through his baking talents being commissioned by the Royal Court and a visit into the woods gone awry. He had come across a pack of hungry wolves while looking for supplies for the pastries he was supposed to make, but, luckily, Zach was there to save the day. Later that night, the two shared a romantic waltz in the ballroom while musically regaling each other with a duet that no one but their true love could ever reciprocate. Their love was real. Today, this wedding is real. It’s all happening so quickly, yet Phoenix could not possibly feel any more overjoyed than he is now. He’s afraid he might even fall over. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, and is ready to push off towards the church doors with proverbial guns blazing, when he registers the faintest tug on his exaggerated sleeve.  
  
When he turns to face the source of the tug, he finds that he has been shaken out of his reverie by none other than a cloaked old woman with a long, crooked nose protruding from her haggard face. On its tip sits a single boil that makes him cringe, yet he regards the woman with respect, despite being momentarily startled by both her sudden intrusion and her.. Well, her unattractiveness.  
  
“Oh, now, don’t _you_ look like a handsome young groom,” the old woman croons, her pale, wrinkled fingers gently caressing Phoenix’s sleeve. It’s quite unnerving, but he tries to always be the diplomat in these kinds of situations, cracking the smallest, yet politest smile he can muster down at her.  
  
“That’s very nice of you, ma’am, but I’m supposed to be getting married---”  
  
“Just a moment, darling, there’s a wishing well just over there!” Phoenix’s eyes follow the direction in which the woman’s finger is pointing, and, sure enough, at the end of a cobblestone path gated by meticulously trimmed shrubs, is a quaint wishing well. “Haven’t you heard? Making wishes on special days like these is _guaranteed_ to make them come true.”  
  
No, in fact, he has _not_ heard of such a rumor. But what could it hurt to entertain this woman for just seconds of his time? Surely Zach would understand. Granted, all his wishes are _already_ coming true today, but again, he has nothing to lose and everything to gain - or so, he thought.  
  
As he is being pulled to the well, he mulls over possible things he can wish for, as ‘happily ever after’ is already on its way. Perhaps a ‘happily ever, _ever_ after’ would suffice? Or maybe that would be too redundant, as it’s a given that happily ever afters always recieve necessary emphasis on the ‘ever’. But just what else could he possibly wish for?  
  
Perhaps it’ll come to him when he makes it there. Yes, certainly. Once he reaches it, the old hag gently ushers him forward so that he stands right at the brim while leaning forward slightly, his eyes searching the well as if his wish is somewhere hidden in the vast darkness. For a moment, his mind is as blank as the well, and all is still. He closes his eyes.  
  
Then, he feels a hand on his back, pushing him forward, _too_ forward, until his torso teeters over the stone brim, and he tumbles into the depths of the well.  
  
Maya _told_ him to never take advice from random old hags.


	2. Chapter 2

The late evening Manhattan rain falls upon father and daughter as they seek shelter in a bright red sports car, on their way home from one of the young magician's small time shows in a secluded cabaret club. They're huddled closely together, though Miles is struggling to keep up with his daughter, who is presently invigorated by the success of her performance, modest as it was. He chuckles to himself as he keeps the umbrella aloft them both, but mostly over her, until she makes her way into the passenger seat and closes the door. Miles circles around to the driver side door and enters himself, snapping his umbrella shut and tossing it carelessly to the seat behind him.  
  
He notes the time as he keys the ignition; 10:38,  _way_ past his little magician's bedtime. But she  _is_ helping pay the bills more than you would even expect from a mere 8 year old. It's worrisome, but she insists with gusto that she can handle it, and her impeccable schoolwork proves it. Miles glances over at her and smiles. If only he hadn't been late to her show. His incorrigible clients, the DeLites, had him at the office all night, and they hadn't gotten anywhere in terms of compromising. It was to the extent that his assistant, Kay, wondered how he could possibly have any faith in getting married himself if, statistically, almost half of marriages end up.. well, like _that_. His boyfriend Lang was.. many things, but he was always precise with what he wanted. To-the-point. Miles appreciated that in him. Of course, that's not  _only_ why he wants to marry him. They've been serious for quite a while, and Miles thinks it's high time they take the next step. Trucy deserves another parental figure in her life, after being dropped into Miles' lap many years ago by previous clients who'd skipped town. And she loves Lang. So she should take this news well, right?  
  
Miles clears his throat and pulls out of his parking spot, clicking on the windshield wipers and taking a quick glance in his rear view mirror. "Trucy?"  
  
"Yes, daddy?" Her voice is soft, tiny, and endearingly fragile.  
  
"I've given it some thought, and.. I'm going to ask Mr. Lang to marry me."  
  
His daughter gasps audibly, her ivory-gloved hand flying to her mouth and her big blue eyes widening. Marriage. It's a big part of those fairy tale books she loves reading but Miles tries to discourage her from because he feels they distract from reality. She still reads them, though. Nothing can stunt the mindset of an 8-year-old girl. "Really?" she whispers.  
  
"Yes. You like him, don't you?" Miles' face softens at seeing the uncertainty in his daughter's expression. The two had gotten along famously; she was most likely just worried about the whole 'stepfather' thing. "Think about it - he'll be the second father you always wanted. He'll live with us and attend your shows when I'm working late like tonight." In Miles' stead, because of the whole DeLite Debacle, Lang took the initiative of acting as the proud spectating father. After three years of dating Miles, Lang still hasn't moved in yet because Miles insisted he needed to set boundaries until he felt the relationship had matured enough to graduate into a domestic life with Trucy, so the couple made their separate ways for the night.  
  
"I guess you're right," she relents, smiling wanly.  
  
The car comes to a slow halt at a red light. Miles reaches over the console to give his daughter a quick kiss on the forehead. He says nothing, but the little smile he gives her says everything.  
  
Just then, her eyes widen at something occurring over her father's shoulder. "Daddy, look, up there! A prince!" she shouts, pointing out the driver side window. Luckily, it's a pretty lonely street, so no one else is on the road but them, and even if the light turns green, Miles can still stay stopped to look at whatever it is Trucy is pointing at.  
  
There appears to be someone - or some _thing on_ the Royal Casino billboard, facing the wooden double doors of the cartoon castle. It seems to fit the regal theme with its exaggerated attire, especially its sleeves, accentuating arms which look to be.. whaling at the obviously fake door of the obviously fake castle that obviously nobody is going to answer.  
  
"No, it's just an advertisement, sweetheart. A mannequin," Miles explains, still eyeing the figure. And a strange one at that. But he swears he can hear..  _shouting_ through the pounding of the rain. He lowers his window a crack to make sure he's not going crazy.  
  
Sure enough, the shouting is slightly amplified, as is the rain, the droplets of which fall onto the power window control. It's coming from the 'mannequin'. Now, why would a billboard advertisement have a talking mannequin knocking on a door?  
  
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" the figure shouts, its volume weak against the heavy rain and crashing thunder. It continues to knock and cry out 'hello' relentlessly, obviously distressed.  
  
"No, I think it's a real prince, daddy! He needs help!" Trucy exclaims. She makes a move for the door handle as the fierce lover of princes and princesses as she is, but Miles stops her.  
  
"Stay inside. That man is.. he's clearly deranged. We don't know what could be the matter with him,” he says firmly, returning his eyes to the road and watching the light turn green.  
  
"But, daddy, we can't just _leave_ him, he could be lost!" she pleads. Well, lost is  _one_ way of putting it. But before Miles can place his foot on the gas, Trucy is exiting the car, circling around the back to rush towards the billboard. Much to her father's disbelief, she's waving her arms wildly at the man and yelling, "Hey! Your Highness!"  
  
Miles curses, quickly puts the car in park and bolts out of it in protective pursuit of his naive daughter. She stops a few feet away from the base of the billboard, raptly watching the man continue his knocking tirade against the door as if he'd never heard her trying to get his attention. When her father catches up to her, he braces his hands on her shoulders. He reprimands her for making such a brash move, but she's much too awestruck by this eccentric figure to even bat an eyelid.  
  
"Is anybody home?" the man asks the door futilely. Miles sighs and tells Trucy to stay put, stepping closer to the billboard.  
  
"Uh, sir?" he calls up to the man, who turns around, his puffed-up shoulders relaxing as he smiles down at him. He seems _relieved_ to have an audience. Besides that, he really _does_ look like a prince - like something out of Trucy's favorite books; winning smile, kindly eyes, shimmering princely attire, albeit presently soaked just like the rest of him.  
  
"Oh, hi! Uh, I was wondering if you could --" As he turns around again to gesture towards the door, the prince loses his footing, his arms pinwheeling almost comically behind him and threatening at least a thirty-foot fall. He yelps in fear and before Miles knows what the hell is going on, he's moving in to catch him, and sure enough, he's falling, falling, _crash_ , in a heap on top of poor Miles, who is now enjoying a mouthful of one of his engorged, soaked sleeves. Trucy runs towards the two, groaning and struggling to get their bearings.  
  
"Oh gosh, are you alright?" the prince asks, wincing as he gingerly pulls Miles to his feet. Miles, still grunting, cracks his neck and braces his elbows, shaking the moisture out of his hair. The prince gives him an apologetic look. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," Miles responds tightly.  
  
Trucy couldn't care less if her father was alright. Her concern at present was for this mythical prince. "Are you _okay_? What were you  _doing_ up there?"  
  
The prince struggles to catch his breath before explaining himself. "W-well, I was.. looking for some help. I know I look like a lunatic, but I've been wandering all day and I don't know where I am. This place.. it's like a jungle filled with strange buildings and stranger people."  
  
That's probably the most accurate interpretation of New York that Miles has ever heard. Leave it to tourists to wander here like deer in headlights, even though they're in one of the most famous cities in America. "Yes, well," Miles chuckles dryly, "welcome to New York."  
  
Strangely enough, the man beams at this sarcastic introduction to this so-called strange land, his eyes alight and.. seemingly touched. "Oh, thank you."  
  
Miles fixes him with a strange look. "Okay, well.. are you going to be alright? Would you like me to call someone for you?"  
  
"Well, I've been calling and calling all night, but no one's heard me from here, so I doubt that'll work for you," the man says flatly.  
  
Miles blinks. "What?" Is this man some sort of method actor? If so, he's doing a remarkable job. Just then, lightning crashes. They're accomplishing nothing standing out here in the rain like this other than getting soaked for no reason.  
  
"Right, well, why don't we figure this out indoors," Miles reasons, gesturing to his miraculously still-parked car. The light is still green - or did it turn green again? - and no more cars are in sight. It’s truly strange for a night in Manhattan. Perhaps people really just want to get out of the rain? This possibility just makes this man's presence here all the stranger.  
  
He gazes puzzledly at the vehicle. "That sure is a strange horse you've got there."  
  
Oh, this was going to be a long night.  


* * *

  
  
The prince regales his fantastic story all through the drive home and the six flights of stairs that the three of them trudge up to get to Miles' apartment, all from the beginning. Miles now knows that he was a baker named  _Phoenix_ from a kingdom _far, far away_ called _Corinthia?_ and met another prince that he fell in love with at a ball. They were to get married today, but some old hag showed him to a well to make a wish, and he figures he must've looked too far in because he fell and ended up here somehow, where he wandered, found the 'castle', fell off of it, and met Miles and Trucy. Miles, still convinced this man is doing some  _insane_ method acting, is unfazed. The same can't be said for his daughter, unfortunately. Her eyes are sparkling with every word that spills from this man’s mouth, like the magicians she looks up to on TV. It’s simultaneously endearing and pathetic. This man would be a terrible influence on his daughter - she’d only be egging this behavior on.  
  
"Is falling off of things a habit of yours?" Miles asks as they arrive at the sixth floor landing, fiddling with his keys.  
  
Phoenix shrugs sheepishly. "Well, usually there's someone there to catch me.. Zach would, for instance. But I'm sure that, come morning, he'll be here to rescue me from this.. jungle.. and we'll at _last_ get to share in true love's kiss."  
  
He smiles a wistful smile at nothing in particular, dreamy eyes as distant as this place he's been describing to them. Trucy almost swoons. Miles blinks tiredly at the both of them, massaging the furrow of his eyebrows.  
  
"True love's kiss?" he inquires lamely, feigning interest and instead focusing on gaining access to his apartment.  
  
"It's only the most powerful force in the world," Phoenix muses. Trucy nods matter-of-factly to vouch for him like she knows exactly what she's talking about and would put her life on the line to defend that statement.  
  
No, actually, the most powerful force in the world would be the strong nuclear force, but Miles just manages to spit out a "Right," to tide the two of them off.  
  
"Thank you for allowing me a place to stay," Phoenix says genuinely as Miles opens the door. "I really appreciate it. I don't know what I would've done if you two hadn't come around."  
  
Miles' back bristles at the notion of him staying over for the night. Lang would be here in the morning to take Trucy to school and  _certainly_ would not appreciate some strange prince boy lounging on their couch when not even  _he_ was invited to do that yet after three years of dating him. And Phoenix couldn’t be that person who puts them in this situation, anyway. It could literally be _anyone else_ but him, specifically. He's far too much of a character for this Lang situation to tide over easily, should it arise.  
  
A part of Miles, deep down, does feel for the prince, though. But, truthfully, he's still torn over whether or not he's genuine or just genuinely a good method actor. "No, you're not staying here. I apologize if I made that implication. I figured you'd just need a place to dry off and, uh," Miles clears his throat, minding how seriously this man must take his role, "notify your kingdom that you need assistance."  
  
Phoenix runs a finger through his hair, and the drier it seems to get, the more it.. juts out unnaturally at the back like hedgehog spikes. This man is truly something else. "Well, I don't exactly have a carrier pigeon with me, so.. I'm out of luck, there. But do you know of any meadows or hollow trees I could burrow in for the night?"  
  
Miles is truly at a loss. His brain is literally drawing blanks. The shock this man must feel, stumbling into a world so vastly different than the one he's used to - given that he's not really a method actor, of course - must be hitting him, too, just in a different way. Perhaps it’s culture shock. He vaguely tries to remember hotel names that sound forest-y enough.  
  
"Erm.. well, there's a Courtyard Marriott nearby." He stops himself short. Surely, once he's there, he'll see that it's not actually a courtyard and probably end up sleeping in the _actual_ courtyard. He may be a character, but he's not dumb. "It's an inn," Miles amends.  
  
"Oh, an inn, that's perfect! Thank you very much," Phoenix says with a smile, walking into the living room proper and observing his strange surroundings, circling around the space dreamily as though he's in The Sound of Music or something. Besides the few things he can recognize as strange adaptations of typical household objects, like oddly-shaped seats and tables and bookcases, there are other strange contraptions all around the room that he can't easily identify. There's a very large rectangular-shaped Magic Mirror that looked to be without an ornate design bordering it, and smaller boxes under it, one of which was displaying two 2-digit numbers separated by two dots. Portraits of Miles and his daughter adorn the walls, but they do not look like paintings at all - they look next to lifelike, as if someone were to capture the moment just as they saw it and frame it. It’s beautifully enchanting and confusing at the same time, and Phoenix takes a moment to marvel at the strange place he has found himself in.  
  
While Miles busies himself in his office to make him a reservation, Trucy follows Phoenix to the couch instead of to her room where she should be getting to bed. Perhaps she wants him to tell her a bedtime story - imagine that! Nothing like getting a bedtime story from a real, live prince.  
  
"Are you  _really_ a prince?" she asks him, blue eyes shimmering with awe like they would every time she met a prince or princess at Disney World. Only this time,  _this_ prince was the real deal.  
  
Phoenix smiles down at her jovially. "Not yet," he whispers, starry eyes blinking slowly with fatigue, "but I hope to be, one day. You think I'd make a good prince?"  
  
Trucy nods and reciprocates the smile, her single diamond-shaped earring jingling. "I think you would. You're handsome and kind, just like the princes I read about. Prince Zach is really lucky to have you."  
  
Phoenix puts a hand to his heart, visibly touched. Trucy thinks she can even see a tear gleaming in his eye. To be compared to a storybook prince is truly the most venerable honor that could ever be bestowed upon a prince-to-be, but to have his relationship with his one true love be supported in such a way? "You really think so? Oh, Trucy, you're the sweetest. I'm so happy to get a compliment like that from a young wizard."  
  
Now it's Trucy's turn to look visibly touched. Her eyes widen. "You think I'm a _wizard_?" she says in disbelief.  
  
Phoenix chuckles and gestures at her wine-colored cape and top hat. "Well, you sure dress the part. I hope you can show me some of your spells sometime. I'm sure you're very talented.” His statement breaks off into a yawn, which he accentuates with the outstretching of his arms.  
  
The young 'wizard' grins from ear to ear. "You bet I will. Sweet dreams, Your Highness." She offers him a modest curtsy.  
  
Phoenix smiles at her blearily and nestles his head into a nearby pillow, shifting his body so that he's lying fetal position on the couch. "Good night, young wizard."  
  
With that, he shuts his dainty eyelids while wearing that same smile and falls into a peaceful slumber, his chest rising and falling gently. He hasn't even thoroughly dried himself off yet and he still smells of petrichor and smog, but he looks so comfortable in this state; he must be the type of person who would gladly make a bed out of the concrete if he had to. After all, he did mention sleeping in a meadow or hollow tree - sleeping in nature must be what he's accustomed to.  
  
Trucy watches the sleeping prince for a few seconds and strokes his sleeve tenderly, taking him in for now because he may not still be here tomorrow, when she overhears her father on the phone with someone, saying something about booking a room for a single person. She feels her face droop a little at the thought of having this prince leave her so soon when they were only just becoming friends, and she was supposed to show him some of her ‘spells’!  
  
She crosses the living room into the office to voice her displeasure. "Couldn't he sleep _here_ , Daddy?" she pleads.  
  
Miles puts a hand over the microphone and turns to her. "Definitely not."  
  
"But he's really sleepy," she says, gesturing at the sleeping beauty. Miles looks on in disbelief, visibly pained. He shakes his head.  
  
"Oh, no. That's not acceptable,” he says, marching over to try to wake him up. Before he can reach for him, Trucy stands in his way and pouts.  
  
"You're not really gonna make him go, are you, Daddy?"  
  
"It’s late, Trucy. You should get to bed. Come," he dismisses, gently placing a hand on her back and steering her towards her bedroom.  
  
Trucy is not having it, though. She roots her feet firmly into the carpet. "But I think he might be a real prince! You can't just let him go fend for himself! He’s lost and lonely.”  
  
He sighs and kneels so that he’s eye-level with his daughter, muting the phone call with the hotel - luckily, they’ve put him on hold. He knows she hates when he does that, as she finds it patronizing, but he feels the need to get her to see eye-to-eye with him on this - literally.  
  
“Trucy, just because he’s dressed like a prince and acts like the ones you read about doesn’t necessarily mean he truly is one. For all we know, he could be an actor who’s very dedicated to his role. Or he may be a  _very confused man_ who has fallen into our laps. Do you understand that?” he lectures delicately, firmly enough to get his point across, but gently enough to not break her heart too much. This is what reading too many fairy tales does to kids.  
  
Trucy huffs hair out of her face and deepens her pout, bringing the begging into her eyes now. “So we’re not going to let him stay?”  
  
“No.” He presses a kiss to his daughter’s forehead, ruffling her hair and sending her off. “Now put on your nightgown and run along to bed. Good night.”  
  
Begrudgingly, she trudges to her room, still pouting. He sighs and brings the phone back to his ear after unmuting it, where there’s still a contemporary saxophone solo playing through the speaker. He turns around to observe the slumbering prince’s form, confounded by how comfortable he seems to be given both his awkward position and still-soaked attire. He’s still smiling, for God’s sake. It’s incredible. After a few seconds of studying this strange prince who might as well be an alien, the saxophone solo is over, and the woman handling the booking is back and asking to confirm.  
  
Before Miles is even aware of what he’s doing, the woman tinnily calls, “Hello?” and Miles responds by hanging up the phone. He's immediately struck with the urge to hit redial and apologize, but some unknown force is prohibiting him from doing so. It's as if he's under some sort of spell, too taken by this man whose presence here tomorrow morning will undoubtedly uproot his relationship with Lang, but he knows he can’t, in good consciousness, allow him to fend for himself in a hotel, especially if he’s as confused and out of touch with reality as he is. And Miles also can’t, in good consciousness, leave a guest on the couch, welcome or not. Was he a heathen with no manners? Is this the way he wanted to look to his daughter, who would no doubt grow up as a reflection of him? No, sir.  
  
So he finds himself knocking gently on his daughter's bedroom door, watching her place her beloved top hat on her shelf just beside her wand and cape, and invites her to sleep in his room tonight. Trucy is, of course, sharp as a tack and warily asks why - but caves anyway because she’s always loved sleeping in her father’s room. She would just never tell.  
  
Now, the hard part - getting Phoenix into Trucy’s bed. He was a grown man and could probably just barely fit into a twin bed, no less bridal-style in Miles’ arms after the topple they’d taken, but as much as miracles and magic might exist in his world, they certainly don’t here. Miles would have to suck it up and make do.  
  
But with every step he takes carrying Phoenix’s lumbering, dampened body, with his still ailing bones protesting in pain, the idea of leaving him on the couch seems increasingly more attractive. But they were so close, so close. And Phoenix’s body was so close to him, too. His face was buried in the nape of Miles’ neck. Miles could feel the man’s breath flowing rhythmically up against his skin, warm and heady. Before his mind could start to wander with how tingly it felt, though, the smell of wet dog wafts up from the prince’s tunic. Miles brings his shirt up to his nose instinctively.  
  
At long last, Miles reaches the bed, and unceremoniously flops Phoenix’s form onto it - who remains sleeping, unfazed, as if he hasn’t been disturbed at all. He even goes so far as to unconsciously let out a contented hum, settling more comfortably into his new bed. Miles stands back to admire his handiwork, then gently pushes the prince’s head securely onto a pillow so that it doesn’t loll in such an awkward manner. When his hand makes contact with his skin, he notes just how soft it is, how gently it wraps around his cheekbones. His dark matted hair clings to his temple, and the tiniest strand of it hangs over his forehead. He’s still smiling to himself as if he’s stuck in a pleasant dream; in his world, those may be the only dreams that exist. Miles gives him a pitying smile and shakes his head.  
  
With that, he exits the room and prays to any god that will listen that this euphoric dream of his keeps him asleep until Lang is gone.


End file.
